


The Magnus Records 009 - A Mother's Love

by ErinsWorks



Series: The Magnus Records [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Magnus Records
Genre: AU where the entities are nice and the world is awful, Alternate Universe, Gen, Gun Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21241958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinsWorks/pseuds/ErinsWorks
Summary: In another world, one filled with security cameras and tyrannical officers, where the State is more likely to have you killed off than any petty cult leader, perhaps Linette Montauk would survive. And perhaps she would become the servant of a far more benign entity.Here at the Magnus Sanctuary, London, we will find out.Start your interview. Share your hope.





	The Magnus Records 009 - A Mother's Love

**KEEPER**

Interview with Julia Montauk, regarding the alleged activities of her mother, local legend Linette Montauk. Original interview given December 3rd 2002. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Record Keeper of the Magnus Sanctuary, London.

Interview begins.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

Growing up with an urban legend for a mother was difficult. When the news first picked up on her death and identification, the news seemed convinced that I somehow knew it all: That my mum had shared her _ "secret identity" _ with me, and that I was the key behind unlocking the masked anti-hero's truest secrets and motivations. Truth is, I didn't know a thing about her hidden double-life. I just knew that half my childhood friends had a story about seeing her in the distance, and that I was never so lucky.

You've probably heard some of those stories on the news, honestly… At least, all the stories the Monarchy hasn't suppressed. She was a controversial figure. Still is, really. No one ever really figured out how she was so good at what she did, or why she did it, or why she seemed to hate the _ damn Monarchs _ so much. But I've done some digging, and I've learned my mum's story had even more than met the eye.

I know this is a therapy session, but… if it's all the same to you, I'd like to tell you the true story of Linette Montauk, widow, mother, and… actual superhero.

I'm not sure when she started, but if I had to pick a date, it'd be the day dad didn't come home. See, my dad Robert was a part of this _intellectual group_ called _the_ _Society Of Bright Hearts._ Men and women of science and ethics, with a very very obvious dislike for The Monarchy. They never made it _too_ blatant, always hiding their dissent behind general social commentary or philosophical tirades. But at some point down the line, recently, people stopped caring how subtle you were. So when my dad didn't come home for four days, my mother knew exactly what had happened.

I was only 7 at the time, but I remember the night she told me like it was yesterday. I was sitting up in my bed, completely alone, when she came into my room. She was wearing my dad's golden bracelet, the one with a hand reaching out to an ornate carving of the sun. She put her hands on my shoulders and said: _ "Julia. Sweet Julia. Your dad's gone." _ She seemed to me like she was going to cry, but she held together. _ "Someone took him. And I'm going to make sure they never take anyone like him again. Do you understand?" _ I nodded. I didn't know what she was asking at the time, but even at seven years old, I'd learned to just nod along when someone asked me if they understood something.

_ "I love you, Jules." _ She said, and her voice hitched on the nickname; it was what dad used to call me. _ "And he loved you too. Don't forget that." _She stepped out of the room, then, and I slowly drifted to sleep. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but… I think that was the night my mum decided to start saving people.

Three days later, a woman named Nora Scott has a freak break-failure, and her car takes a nosedive off of Dartfort Crossing. Her unconscious body floats through the Thames for a good five minutes, before she gets pulled to safety and nursed back to health. Her memories of the event are _ understandably _ a bit foggy, but she remembered a woman in a hoodie, wearing a golden bracelet. 

Six days after that, a man named Isaac Peterson is almost hit by a car speeding through a red light. He survives. Security footage shows that the car is stopped- yes _ stopped- _ by a hooded figure. With her bare hands. Neither Isaac nor his would-be manslaughterer's car are damaged, but Isaac still reports the incident to the local news, awestruck.

Four days after _ that, _ two children are saved from a housefire, drug out by a woman in black denim jeans and- you guessed it- a hoodie. The children's parents, a Mr. and Mrs. Marsh, reportedly pressed _ 245 pounds _ in cash into their apparent savior's hands.

My mum bought us a new T.V. the day after that.

It went the same way for a few months. People would almost be killed, and moments from their death, they would be rescued by _ the woman in a hoodie _. That was when the legend started to write itself: Everything from simple accidents to murder attempts, she’d be there, doing everything she could to stop them from dying. She was everywhere at once, never appearing until the moment she was needed. Then, out of the blue, she’d be right there by your side, saving you. Whatever it was. She’d be there.

… And then there was the day she killed a Monarchy enforcer to save a runaway.

It was in the state news then: “Hooded vigilante murders enforcer, criminal on the run”. She was a killer now, and the legend stayed, but it twisted. She was a _vigilante_ now, a woman taking the law into her own hands. _She stood against the monarchy._ _She thought _she_ was the one who decided who got to live or die. She was dangerous. She was deranged._

Those were never the words of the people she saved, though.

I hadn’t connected the dots yet. I don’t think you can blame me, really. This is the kind of thing that’s only obvious in hindsight, and more importantly, the kind of thing you only really figure out when you’re a fully grown adult. It’s not even like I had schoolyard gossip on my side, seeing as my mum insisted on homeschooling me. She did a pretty damn good of hiding the whole _ double-life _ thing too. There was nothing in the _ house _ that would’ve ever lead _ anyone _ to believe that my mom was a crime-fighting, anti-statist, superpowered, machine of justice. The shed in the backyard however? That was an entirely different story. One I’ll get to in a bit.

We had a couple of house-parties, if you can call them that, every few weeks. Birthday parties and sleepovers with the few friends I’d managed to pick up over the years, as well as my mum’s little social gatherings. The thing about those that’s started to bother me is that… Not a one of them contacted me after she died. Not _ one person. _ But I do recognize a few of them. There was one man who I absolutely remember speaking with her, when I was… God I must’ve been ten. 

His name was Rayner- Or, _ Mr. Rayner, _ as he insisted I call him. He was the president of the Society of Bright Hearts at the time, I think. He was unforgettable: He had these _ eyes _ that shone like _ gemstones, _ and this kind German accent- _ although, there were a lot of accents I thought were “german” back then, I’ve yet to look into his actual place of birth _\- and he just seemed… Open. Lively. Like he knew the secret tricks to everything, and he’d share them with you, if only you asked.

I remember, my mum was talking with another friend of hers, and Rayner stepped into the room. She stared at him for what felt like ages, without saying a word. Then, she walked up and… Well she hugged him. She seemed like she was going to cry again... and I think that’s why this memory sticks out so much in my head. It had been years since I’d seen my mother as _ vulnerable _ as she was in that moment. Rayner hugged her right back, and said something to her, just loud enough for me to hear. Obviously I don’t remember what he said exactly, this was years ago, but it was something along the lines of “Thank you, and I’m so sorry”. My mother nodded, told him it was alright, that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone's fault but the Monarchy’s.

That was the first thing she’d ever said around me that gave me the idea that- surprise- she didn’t like the Monarchy much. Trouble is, it was also the last.

I was around 10 and a half when the Monarchy finally got a picture of half her face while she was saving someone. Nothing came out of it, but she was one step closer to being caught that day. One step closer to the monarchy winning. The blurry picture was all over the city, on _ wanted posters _ like some kind of bad western. She came home looking like she was going to break something. I still hadn't made the connection.

She asked if I ever wanted to just… be invisible. To make it so no one could see me, so that no one _ would _see me. To make it so that all the cameras littering the street would never be able to figure out who I am.

I told her I wouldn't have to be _ invisible. _ I'd just need a mask!

My mum's face lit up at that. See, she had this hobby that caught a lot of people's attention. She was a woodcarver. A pretty good one at that. All she needed was a knife and a log, and she was ready to make a masterpiece. I found out afterward that the shed was absolutely littered with wood carvings of bears and all sorts of other things. And after that… she started making masks.

Bear masks mostly. Lightweight, durable, almost tribal in appearance. I'd waddle around the house wearing them sometimes, but mum always made me promise I'd never go outside if I wore them.

So the Hooded Woman became the Hooded Bear. The symbolism's kind of silly honestly. Her with her superhero complex. The _ Mother Bear _ of London.

I don't know when the Monarchy's enforcers finally tracked her down. But they burst in guns blazing.

The door was shattered to splinters, screams of threats like _ "KILL 'EM ALL!" _ and the like. If I'm being honest, it was a traumatic experience, but I couldn't exactly tell anyone about it. My mother grabbed me and raced me upstairs, up through the hallway, while enforcers chased up after us. She stuffed me into a closet and told me to stay quiet, to stay _ dead _ quiet. She'd come back for me soon. She'd protect me. She'd guard me. She promised.

… She was crying... And even then I knew it was a lie. She couldn't survive this.

And she didn't.

…

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW DESCRIPTION)**

… It… It says here that Gertrude spent some time consoling Ms. Montauk before she was ready to speak again. Which. Is commendable.

… It then goes on to say that Ms. Montauk returned to her interview with… _ "Renewed enthusiasm." _

Interview Resumes.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

So I sat there in that dark closet. The sound of gunfire growing quiet. In my child's mind I figured, if I waited long enough, my mum would come back. 

She didn't but something else did.

I can… only describe it as an _ Angel _ really. It was beautiful. Bright. So _ so _ bright, too bright to look at for too long. It was… humanish. I suppose. With six _ bright _wings, all aglow. And, when I looked at it, I got the same feeling I did from Rayner: that feeling that it had things it had lovely secrets, secrets it was so willing to share.

It took my hand. And we walked.

We walked out from my house, out into the street, and the streetlights couldn't compare to it. Wherever we walked it was like the sun was shining, every color crisp, and every detail perfect.

_ It brought me home _. And that's all I can say about where we went, really.

I've needed to tell my mum's story, now that I've finally figured it all out. So. Thank you for listening. 

**KEEPER**

Interview ends.

There's not much I can add here. Ms. Montauk was not able to provide her details of birth to the institute, and given our numerous privacy policies, it is unlikely we will be able to determine if she is truly the daughter of the famed Hooded Bear Vigilante of urban legend.

The Bright Hearts Society is indeed a real organization, one purportedly dedicated to the scientific study of cosmic phenomena, and they have made _ numerous _advancements in geological and astrological sciences. However, as Ms. Montauk details, this scientific dogma is underlain with bits and pieces of subtle anti-monarchy propaganda.

…

Two weeks ago I would be compelled to track down this woman, to turn her in to the Monarchy, to campaign against the Bright Hearts Society, to dismiss the latter piece of her account as rubbish. Which, of course… it is. 

Ms Montauk aided her criminal mother, the Bright Hearts Society is a danger to London's peace, and angels… Angels aren't real. Monsters aren't real. I _know_ these words are true.

_ ... So why don't I believe them? _

…

End recording.

  


**Author's Note:**

> A bit more insight into the insidious actions of my Bland Evil Megagovernment, the Monarchy, and how they treat their citizens.
> 
> Also, our People's Church Of The Divine Host analog, the Bright Hearts Society. Buncha cheeky nerds that lot. 
> 
> Also!!! The Hunt's opposite is tricky. So. Have fun figuring it out.


End file.
